


Ticks

by maximumsuckage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 04:43:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13516809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumsuckage/pseuds/maximumsuckage
Summary: Gabriel has a supernatural issue.  Sam helps him with it.  Gabe's wings and Sam's angst and coffee involved.





	Ticks

**Author's Note:**

> Self indulgent, plotless stuff while I work on ironing out the next chapter of Dreamscape

Gabriel did not have a particularly reliable schedule.  Sometimes he’d crash at the bunker for days on end, always accompanied by the little brown and white terrier that seemed to get into the garbage no matter where Sam and Dean hid it.  Sometimes he would vanish for weeks with barely a text message to announce that he was still alive.  Sometimes he would just stop in real quick, eat Dean’s food, and vanish, and sometimes he would crash, integrating himself into bunker life.

This was one of his absences, though this time Sam knew Gabriel was coming back; he’d left the dog.  In the absence of his archangel master, Maximus had taken to Dean, following the elder Winchester around.  This was probably less a personal choice, and more because Dean was free with tossing pieces of food to the animal, even though he complained about Gabriel’s using them as a kennel. 

So Sam wasn’t too surprised when he walked into the kitchen that morning to find that Gabriel had just let himself in. 

He was a bit more surprised to find that the archangel was shirtless, and twisted around to try to see his own back.

“Morning,” Sam said as he walked in, frowning.  “You okay there?”

Gabriel just grunted at him, like he didn’t owe Sam an explanation.  “Got bit by something,” he muttered.  His vessel wasn’t the most flexible, and as it was, he had twisted one foot with the chair leg in order to anchor himself while he tried to force his upper body to turn a one-eighty. 

Bit by something did not sound good, but there was no blood, so Sam poured himself a cup of coffee before he stepped closer.  He’d never seen Gabriel without a shirt, he realized, though he wasn’t sure why that was such a shock.  It wasn’t like Gabriel walked around the bunker without clothes, and it wasn’t like they’d ever all gone on some dream beach vacation together.  The scar, where Lucifer had stabbed him with his own blade, was a stark white against the softer tan of the rest of his skin, an entry on his chest and an exit on his back.

But that was the only mark on his back, unless one counted the reddened part that Gabriel kept grabbing at, just below his left shoulder blade.  There was nothing there though, at least, not that Sam could see.  “What’d you get bit by?” he asked, when it was clear Gabriel wasn’t going to divulge the information on his own.  “A mosquito?”

Gabriel straightened, rolling his shoulder, and held out a hand for the coffee.  Sam hesitated, but handed it to him.  “Seriously, are you okay?”

He took a sip from the mug, and winced at the bitterness, handing it back.  “No,” he said, affronted.  “I’m in deep, searing agony right now.”  To illustrate his point, he rolled his shoulder back into the chair, trying to scratch it with the slight roughness of the wood.  “I can’t get the damn stinger out.”

“Stinger?  I thought you were bit-”

“Tomato tomahto, it doesn’t matter.”  Gabriel twisted again, while Sam looked on, taking another sip of his beloved morning coffee.  “Point is, some spectral bug got me in the wing while I was poking around places I probably shouldn’t have been, and now I’m in horrible anguish and you’re just sitting there drinking coffee.”

Sam forgot both the retort about how he was actually standing, and his coffee.  “Something got your _wing_?”

Gabriel made a face at him, sitting back and pulling one leg up to his chest.  “Don’t look that surprised, Sasquatch.  Dad hates us, so Dad let crap evolve.  Hence, spectral blood suckers.  Or grace suckers, I guess.”  He grit his teeth.  “I don’t know and I don’t care.  It just itchessssss…” He trailed off in a whine, scraping the bottom of his shoulder blade against the chair again. 

“So… you’re not actually hurt.”  Sam raised an eyebrow, watching the squirming archangel.  All the shock at seeing him shirtless had drained away at the mention of wings.  Wings were far more interesting.  “I don’t know what to tell you… would anti-itch help?  We have some for mosquito bites.  It might be expired, but…”

“I’ll take it.  I don’t even care,” Gabriel hopped up from the chair, ready to follow Sam into the bowels of Hell if it would make the horrible itch in the base of his wing vanish.  “It won’t heal up.  I keep trying, but…”  He growled in frustration, twisting around to look at his own back. 

Sam pawed through the drawers a moment, before coming up with the cream.  “Um,” he said, holding it out.  “Do you wanna, or… I would help you, but I can’t see your wings, so…”

Gabriel froze, for the first time since Sam had seen him that morning.  He tilted his head slightly, looking up at Sam.  “Would you?”

The tube suddenly felt heavy in his hands.  “Your wings?  I mean, yeah, I can, but I can’t see-”

“I can make you see,” Gabriel said quickly.  There was a slight dusting of pink across his cheeks now, and he looked away, somewhere above Sam’s face.  “It would only take a second, I swear.  I know it’s weird, or whatever, because you’re human, but we never gotta mention it-”

“No, no, it’s fine.”  Sam nodded quickly, stepping forward.  “Wings.  I guess… I always forget you guys have them, and…”

Gabriel closed his eyes.  “Please don’t get all fan-girly on me.  Let’s just do this fast.  Rip off the Band-aid.”

He seemed to be saying that more for his own reassurance than Sam’s, because a moment later, Sam’s vision was filled with feathers.  Six wings, a falcon’s wings, built for speed in heralding God’s word.  Golden, if perhaps faded, the sheen weathered away by centuries on Earth.  One was held awkwardly, the middle one on the left, and the feathers were rumpled next to the base, barely in reach of Gabriel’s fingers.  The top bandy-gold ones were rucked up so that the paler down underneath was exposed. 

Gabriel twisted, exposing the wing to Sam and looking towards the ceiling.  The tint had turned to a full blush now, like he had just gotten naked and was awaiting judgement.  “Stop staring and just fix it,” he whined, voice high and defensive. 

But why was he defensive?  They were brilliant; he was brilliant.  Sam’s breath hitched as he took in the vision before him. 

This, this was divinity.  This was _Gabriel_ , or a piece of him anyways.  This was more than the vessel, more than the gold in his eyes.  This was a piece of his body, of his true form, and he was revealing it to Sam Winchester, the boy with demon blood.  A holy being was allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of the most tarnished of men, and the honor of it made Sam tremble-

“Sam!”  Gabriel’s snap yanked him back to the ground.   “Stop throwing the pity party over there and fix my damn wing before I chop the thing off.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Gabriel groaned.  “Dude, you can cry about your poor stained soul _later_ , okay?  And it’s not even that stained.  I’ve definitely seen worse.  Maybe just cool it on the premarital sex, say ten Hail Mary’s, and you’ll be Gucci, okie-dokes?  Now fix it!”  He lifted the largest wing higher so the middle wing would be better exposed. 

Sam took a deep breath, reaching out, and then he drew his hand back.  “I can’t… I’m not… worthy…” The words were small.

Gabriel stared at him for a moment.  “For fuck’s sake,” he said, and twisted around again, worrying his fingers into the feathers.  “Good.  Guess I can cross short-circuiting your brain off the bucket list.  I thought we were friends, but, whatever.”

“Friends.” 

Gabriel closed his eyes.  “This is why we have issues with humans.  Yes, Sam-a-lam, friends.  If you want brutal honestly, you’re literally the only person I trust right now, since my brother and Kali went blowing my trickster gig wide open.  So if you could _please_ pretend like you reciprocate and fix my stupid wing, that’d be great, okay?  You are worthy.  I’m telling you that you are.  And c’mon, everyone wants to touch me, so here’s your chance.”

Sam nodded, swallowing hard.  He couldn’t even speak past the dryness of his throat, but he stepped forward, reaching for the feathers.

They were softer than he thought they’d be, but warmer too, hot even.  If Gabriel were an ordinary creature, they’d be feverish.  They trembled under his hand, and he could feel the tension in Gabriel’s muscles- inhuman, impossible muscles.  But a few of the pale downy ones were stained with blood and silvery grace. 

The sight of it snapped Sam back into hunting mode, and he swallowed his awe to dig through to the flesh below.  And then, parting the feathers, it was clear why Gabriel was still itching so much.  “That’s a tick,” he said, making a face at the engorged insect, head still buried in angel flesh.  It was glowing slightly, clearly not feeding on regular blood.  The blood wasn’t from the arachnid itself, but rather from the claw marks that seemed to be left by Gabriel’s fingernails.

Gabriel made a pained noise, closing his eyes.  “Well get it off then!”

“What were you even doing?”  Using one hand to keep the feathers parted, Sam used the other to pull a utility knife from his pocket, and flipped open the tweezers with his teeth. The thing squirmed when Sam grabbed it by the neck.  “Going on a celestial nature hike?”

Gabriel ignored the question in favor of whimpering as the head of the engorged tick was slowly pulled out.  Sam decided not to point out that, according to lore, Gabriel had been tortured multiple times, and yet was whimpering because of something as mundane as a tick removal.  As soon as it was out, Gabriel hopped away rubbing at the spot and glaring at the glowing thing that squirmed in the tweezers. 

At the sound of his master’s pain, Maximus came trotting in, collar jingling.  “Hey, buddy,” Gabriel said as he sat sideways on the chair and started doing his best to smooth out the rucked up feathers.  “Miss me?”

Sam stared at the tick, glowing with Gabriel’s grace.  “What do I do with it?” he asked hesitantly. 

“I dunno, feed it to the dog or something,” Gabriel said, glaring at his own feathers like they’d betrayed them.  “I never wanna see it again.”

Sam hesitated, not sure about that plan, but dropped the grace-fat tick on the floor. 

Maximus barked and snapped it out of the air before it even touched the ground, then flopped down, chewing happily.  The crushed bug glowed in his mouth for a split second, casting the shadow of teeth across the floor.  Sam tried not to be disgusted, but his attention was more focused on Gabriel’s wings.  The archangel had twisted again, though this time he was fixing the feathers, trying to reach the spot to lay them smooth. 

Sam licked his lips, trying to bring some moisture back to his mouth.  “You want some help with that?”

Gabriel glanced up at him, eyes narrowed.  “You gonna keep complaining about how you’re unworthy?  Real flattering that you think I’m a _real_ celestial being and all, but I’m just a frost giant.”  He twisted again, dismissing Sam, but the hunter shook his head and stepped back over.  The coffee steamed on the table, long forgotten. 

“ _Just_ a frost giant.  Okay, Loki.”  Sam stepped forward, very deliberately not thinking about the flutter in his heart.   When he touched the feathers again, Gabriel dropped his own hands, pulling one knee up to his chest as he let Sam take over.  “I don’t really know how feathers work,” Sam said as an awkward disclaimer.  The downy bits still had bits of shimmery grace and less shimmery blood on them, though the scratches underneath had vanished as soon as the spectral tick was gone.  He hesitated, then just dampened a dish cloth and started using that to loosen the blood. 

A moment later, when they were clean, he found it was easy to arrange them.  He could feel the heat of grace flowing beneath the layer of soft as he lay the feathers flat, layering them as they naturally fell.  Gabriel was quiet, petting the dog with his foot, content to let Sam take over the little grooming project. 

It didn’t take more than a moment for the spot to look like it had never been attacked, and Sam stepped back.  Gabriel made a disappointed sound and rolled his shoulder in a motion that was carried through all three wings on that side, stretching them out so far that the feathers quivered against the wall. 

Sam stepped back, watching the motion, and it occurred to him that he’d seen it before, when Gabriel awoke, or after he’d been flying.  Without the wings, it simply looked like an awkward shoulder roll, another quirk angels seemed to share. 

“Must take you a while to groom all six,” Sam said as he stepped back, unable to look away from the vision before him. 

Gabriel shrugged, and then they vanished, and he looked away from Sam, grimacing.  “We never have to mention that again.”

Sam blinked.  “What?  Why not?”

“It’s just weird.”  He shrugged and grabbed a mug from the cupboard, pouring himself a cup of coffee.  “I dunno.  Nobody’s really touched my wings since I left Heaven.”  He let out a laugh as he dumped sugar into the cup.  “Hell, nobody’s _seen_ my wings since I left Heaven.”

And that was just an entirely new layer, because, if that were true, then Sam had not only been the first in thousands of years to see Gabriel’s wings, but the first to touch them, to groom them even.  And Gabriel, the Messenger of God, had trusted Sam Winchester, the boy with demon blood-

“Will you stop that?”  Gabriel’s eyes narrowed over his mug as he took a sip.  He winced, set it down to cool, and grabbed the shirt from where it had been tossed on the table.  “I’m not that great, and you’re not that bad.  Stop making it into some honor thing.  I lost all that ages ago.”

“Stop reading my mind,” Sam said, automatically. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes as he shrugged the shirt back on.  “You project your thoughts like crazy, man.” 

 Sam just glared at him.  Gabriel sighed as he started adding more milk and sugar to his coffee.  “Look, dude, you think you’re a bad guy, but you’re not.  Alright?  I’m not gonna make this some big, complement-y speech, but you’re a good person.”  He looked over, for once serious.  “Okay?  I was the Messenger.  Judging people was like, my actual job.”

That was nice of Gabriel, but Sam didn’t believe it at all.  But before he could say so, Gabriel swung around.  “Stop it, Sam.  You hate yourself so loudly.  But, like, I like you, so you can’t be _that_ bad.”

“Dunno why,” Sam muttered, but he couldn’t add anything else, because Gabriel was talking again.

“Look, if I’d known you were gonna poop yourself over it, I wouldn’t have asked you for help.”  He sat on the table, the mug of coffee in hand.  “Even if you can’t like yourself, maybe start with accepting that _I_ like you.”

Sam glanced up at him, slightly quizzical, slightly doubtful.  Gabriel raised an eyebrow.  “Is that too hard for you?”

Sam hesitated, but shook his head.  Inhumanly quick, Gabriel was suddenly directly in front of him, looking up.  “Do you want a kiss to prove it?”

“You don’t really want-” Sam was cut off by Gabriel’s mouth and his world exploded into sweet coffee and white hot feathers. 

And then, in the heartbeat it took for Sam to realize what had happened, Gabriel was back on the table, mug of coffee in hand.  “Okay, cool, so we’re in agreement.  What case are you guys working on?  Gonna kill anybody I know?” 

And for a second, Sam thought that it was nothing, that it was simply Gabriel shutting him up, except there was a splash of pink on the archangel’s cheeks, a slightly higher tone to his voice, that he would no doubt deny if Sam pointed it out.  So he didn’t.  “Um, yeah… there’s a vamp nest a few hours away. So I guess we’re gonna get that next…”


End file.
